


Of Gods and Monsters, Edda 4: The Ostrich Feather of Ma'at (a.k.a. The Ever-Shifting Balance)

by bzarcher, solarbird



Series: Of Gods and Monsters [10]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ace Moira O'Deorain, Autistic Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani, Background Poly, Background Relationships, Blueberry Lemon Tea, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Conditioning, Developing Relationship, F/F, Fucked Up, Memory Alteration, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Oasis (Overwatch), Poly Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Talon Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Talon Emily "Oilliphéist" Gardner, Talon Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Talon!Emily, Talon!Mercy, Talon!Tracer, Unreliable Narrator, Widowtracer, gingerspider, world conquest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbird/pseuds/solarbird
Summary: Moira O’Deorain has won. Her rivals within Talon destroyed, her trio of loyal Weapons - the Changed and copper-eyed Tracer, the silver-eyed Oilliphéist, and golden-eyed Widowmaker - at her command, to remake the world.Talon scrambles, reasserting its positions in the aftermath of its civil war. Moira O'Deorain's control over the board grows, as she brings on ever more allies, while simultaneously looking for even more candidates to be Changed, to further extend her influence.But her adopted daughter - and loyal Weapon - Lena "Tracer" Oxton is unhappy, as are her wives. They demand, unexpectedly, that nothing else proceed until Angela's wife Fareeha is properly fixed, and her unsettled mind calmed, once and for all.This story - a side-step/alternate-ending sequel toThe Armourer and the Living Weapon- will be told in a series of eddas, sagas, fragments, texts, and cantos, all of which serve their individual purposes. To follow it as it appears,please subscribe to the series.





	Of Gods and Monsters, Edda 4: The Ostrich Feather of Ma'at (a.k.a. The Ever-Shifting Balance)

> _If you would be wise, provide for your house;_   
>  _love your wife as she lay in your arms,_   
>  _fill her stomach, clothe her back,_   
>  _provide the oil that is remedy for her limbs._   
>  _And if you would lead, be gracious when petitioned;_   
>  _a well-taught mind listens readily, and_   
>  _makes no one hesitate to open their heart._   
>  _For winged Ma'at is right-doing, and balance, long-lasting;_   
>  _no deeds against her bring a venture home safe to port._

Talon ‘council’ meetings moved far more quickly, now - a rather amusing formality, with six of the nine members being part of the ‘extended family.’ Still, Moira believed, maintaining the old forms gave a certain appearance of normalcy - of continuity - to the remains of Talon, even as they reshaped the organization from within. 

“...and in conclusion,” Satya stated, “with the accelerated development of Vishkar’s new rapid hardlight construction arrays, we can now place structures for any purpose in a matter of hours, from residential blocks to fortified command centers.”

Jabari gave a grunt from his office in Bloemfontein, his presence rendered virtually into the conference room via hologram. “That’s well and good for Vishkar and Oasis, but how does any of this advance _our_ goals?”

“A valid question,” Maximilien agreed as he steepled his fingers in front of his face. “I certainly see the potential for fiscal profit - and for extending corporate influence, which I do not discount - but what else is gained?”

Moira could see Satya’s expression turn to haughty exasperation, ready to chastise them for failing to see the brilliance of her vision, and decided to step in. 

_There is no point in alienating them while they still have their uses._

“With the recent... upheavals,” she explained in a firm, even voice, “our focus has primarily been on consolidation and stabilization. Akande and Reaper both had several schemes running that needed to be brought back under control before they got out of hand.”

She gave Satya a respectful nod, followed by a brief but genuinely pleased smile when the Architect returned to her seat. 

Moira stood, waiting a moment to make sure she had everyone’s attention before continuing on. 

“We are now in a position to start directing our resources into new efforts. Expanding and diversifying our power base, first, and more... active... pursuits to follow.” 

She wasn’t surprised to see Kamaria lean forward with interest. She’d always been so wonderfully _receptive_. It was lovely to see a woman with real vision in the organization, really.

“What are you proposing, then? Another attempt to influence Volskaya and the Russian government?”

Moira shook her head. “Not yet - though I do believe Volskaya shows promise.” She let her lips twitch up slightly. Brilliant businesswoman, Volskaya. A strong politician too. Perhaps someday she might make an interesting addition.

_Ah,_ she chided herself, _but you’re getting ahead of things. Plenty to do here and now._

She took a slow circuit of the table, organizing her thoughts a bit before she spoke. “Our... late colleague and his predecessor had strong interest in Numbani, and for good reason. Socially and economically, they’re a powerhouse.” She raised a hand to stall objections. “But previous efforts have often been met with failure, I know.” 

Moira looked over to where Angela sat, feeling a swell of confidence as their eyes met, and Angela’s smile broadened slightly. She knew her wife was on board - half the plan had been _her idea_ \- but Moira appreciated the display of support.

“Military strikes and intimidation tactics have proven ineffective. Even Akande’s ‘triumphant return’ to the city and his destruction of their security forces only resulted in the creation of an improved counter force.”

Maximilien unfolded his hands, gesturing to her with an open palm. “What, then, do you suggest?” 

Moira nodded her thanks to him for providing such an excellent setup. “Political influence - and expanding the limited ties that already exist between Oasis and the corporate and education communities there.” Her smile sharpened slightly. “Cultivating the resources we will need to co-op them from within will take longer than a conventional military solution, but also have the ability to bear much more fruit.” She chuckled, because she wasn’t really just talking about Numbani any longer. “It is so much easier to take control after being invited in.”

“The long game,” Jabari mused thoughtfully. “Not a bad approach at all, really.” 

“Subtler,” Maximilien agreed, “but I concur about the payout. Particularly with our... opposition... in disarray.”

She saw Kamari shift back, her body language practically screaming her desire to move on. “That still leaves us with some need for direct action in other areas. Mexico, especially, and Siberia.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Oilliphéist spoke up from her corner, one hand idly playing with the tip of her wife’s ponytail. “We’ll be _happy_ to pitch in there.”

She threw a set of maps up on the central display. "I've been looking over our tactical positions in both theatres. Now that we're not trying to destabilise as many factions at once, I think we can restructure our forces here, here, and here" - three grids highlighted themselves, then shifted to new configurations - "in Siberia, and the forces currently on site should be able to regain their footing right away."

"And while they're doin' that," Tracer said, tossing another set of maps online, "the three of us can supply some force multiplication, in Mexico. Our positions there are a lot more solid, yeh? We just need the right extra mobility" - the maps began to animate, showing sharp forward progress - "and we'll be in right proper shape in no time. The Maras won't know what hit 'em."

"A more detailed version of both proposals," Widowmaker said, "have just arrived in your inboxes via the usual secure channels. Your commentary and insights are, as always, valued."

“Excellent,” Moira smiled warmly to her weapons, then put on a more businesslike face. “With that settled, were there any other matters…?”

\-----

Moira had barely settled back into her lab and begun following up on the day's latest set of test runs when a knock came at her door.

“Hullo, mum. Do you have a second?”

She turned to smile at her adoptive daughter, gesturing for her to come in. “For you, _a leanbh?_ Always. What’s on your mind?”

Lena teleported from the door to a just under a foot away in her eagerness, rocking back and forth on her feet as she spoke. “Just thinkin’ about what you said about Numbani. About cultivating more resources, once Ree's finally together, yeh? Finding more of th' right people.”

“Indeed,” Moira agreed, and she reached out in another futile attempt to slightly tame Lena’s hair, appreciating the way Lena always leaned in slightly to her touch. 

_How **did** I go so long thinking I had no interest in a family? Such a ridiculous miscalculation on my part._

“So - thinking of someone in particular?”

Lena gave a happy little sigh, then smiled at her as she straightened back up. “Two someones, actually. Winston…” Her expression dimmed slightly, then brightened back up after she gave a little shake of her head. “He’d been keeping track of them in the news, y’see. Considering possibly bringing them on board. Well. One of them anyway. The other’s a bit _young_ for the bloody business, but for this…” Lena shrugged with a careless smile. “You want an influencer?" She brought up an article on her padd. "I think she’d be brilliant.”

“Interesting…” Moira gestured to her desk, settling down into her chair even as she punched in an order for a fresh pot of their favorite assam. “Tell me more, would you?”

\-----

"Fareeha's not gettin' better, mum," Lena said, Emily and Danielle sitting with each other on the lab's breakroom couch behind her. They'd come over after another fruitless session with the Egyptian, and it had been three more weeks, and it was time to make a stand. "She's _worse_ than half-formed, and it's not right, it's awful, y'gotta fix her. Don't care what it takes."

"Lena," Moira said, firmly, punching in numbers on the microwave, reheating her tea. "She's progressing along a perfectly reasonable timeline."

"No, she's _not_ ," Lena said again, insistently. "I'm the one that's there every day with Angela, and she's too tied up in bein' in love. Ree's not gettin' better and y'have to fix it."

Moira looked over her notes, again, and her records of memory coherence, and there was - despite what her daughter insisted - a continued, slow climb.

But it was barely out of margin of error, and she knew it. Still... with so much planning to do before this summer effort in Numbani...

"Lena, I love you, but we cannot afford to get distracted right now. The effort to recruit Oladele is too important, and the opportunity is too good. We have to..."

"NO." she demanded. "I thought Ree'd be better by now, and she's not. Fix her. _First._ " Behind her, Oilliphéist and Widowmaker rose, and stood behind their lover.

"She's right, auntie," Emily said, Danielle nodding her agreement. "We've all talked this out. We want to bring in Efi too..."

"It was _my_ idea!" insisted Tracer.

"But _not_ ," snapped Widowmaker, "without _absolute_ assurance of success." Her golden eyes had not looked so cold, so very hard, in many, many months - not since before she was reborn, not even since before she freed herself from conditioning the very first time. "Or we will _not_ cooperate."

"I... see," O'Deorain said, cooly, masking her shock of surprise - and burst of fear - as best she could.

"Mum," Lena said, stepping closer, taking her adoptive parent's hand. "C'mon, don't be like this. I know y'can do it, if y'really give it everything y'got. You can do _anything_. This is no different."

The geneticist slumped a little, chuckling a little at her moment of apprehension, looked back up, saw her niece and her daughter and their wife again - not weapons, family - and shook her head. _As though... as though they... could be anything else._

She sucked in her lips, for a second, squeezed Lena's hand for a moment, took out the tea from the beeping microwave, and threw herself deep into thought. _I could... reopen certain memory rescribing procedures. It wouldn't be **that** difficult, but doing it while more fully conscious, now that's a tricky task... it's risky, without someone there to..._

She blinked, realising. Angela. Of course. Angela is _here_ now. Someone else, at her level. Someone who could lead her. She could, she could be the one to... _Why didn't I think of this before?_

"...I think I know what must be done."

\-----

"Yes, that's right, I remember that too," Angela said, gently, holding Fareeha's hand up to her chin, running her own hand through her consort's hair. They'd both been dosed with one of Moira's most carefully tailored memory access drugs - Angela consciously, Fareeha... as consciously as she could be. "That's when Ana left. She went to Egypt - she wanted nothing to do with the whole plan."

Moira stood outside, watching, through the large screen, dosed herself, the smallest amount of the three. Waiting. Hoping she was not necessary.

Fareeha nodded, pressing against Angela's palm, opal eyes half-closed, half-open. "And then," she said, slowly, "we... we had... I went with her. I saw Lena's flyer arriving, and knew Widowmaker would be with her, and, and, I left, but I would not have. But I did. I..."

"We had a huge fight over granting her sanctuary. Do you remember?"

"Yes. But, but, it doesn't make sense."

"We've had fights before, beloved."

"I, I, remember. But... not over Overwatch... why did I yell like that?"

"It doesn't matter. It's over. It's in the past, and I do not care why. We were... Overwatch was doing something tremendously risky, and the stakes were so high, and Moira and I were reconnecting, and... it was my fault, more than yours."

"It wasn't! There wasn't..." The rocketeer shook her head, and started to shake.

"I was the one who suggested we take a break. Take some time apart, until everything was over. I never meant to leave you. It was _my_ fault." She glanced over, out the door. "And Moira's."

"But, the annulment, it, it, it, it, it..." and shaking harder, spasming again.

_Damn!_ , the geneticist thought. _Well. There's no way around it._ She pressed a small pressure injector to an artery in her neck, raising her own dose just a little more, and spun around the corner.

"It was a _mistake_." Fareeha heard Moira's voice say, from the doorway, suddenly visible, "and not Angela's. It was mine, _I_ did it, I made a dog's breakfast of it, it was _my_ error. May I come in?"

Pharah jerked, looking towards the door, suddenly on guard, but shaking less, not more. "Yes."

Dr. O'Deorain walked over, slowly, to the bed her wife and her consort shared, and knelt in front of the quivering Egyptian, the woman's eyes focused on her, tracking, like lasers. "Hello, Fareeha. How do you feel?"

"Confused. Upset. I don't know why... I don't, I don't, I don't, I don't know what happened."

"May I hold your hand?" the Minister asked. The Huntress nodded, and jumped a little, surprised, as the doctor nuzzled into it, and said, "It's my fault. I am sorry."

"Your... but you..." she said, still shaking.

"I had power of attorney while she was unconscious, while she was being enhanced so she could handle the new realities that fell into place after the disaster in London. I used it to file, on her behalf, thinking it was the necessary thing to do, and I was wrong. I was wrong in my judgement, and I was wrong to act when it was unnecessary."

" _Your_ fault," the rocketeer breathed, feeling, knowing it was true. Somehow, that made it ... not better, but more of something she could believe, something that didn't make her feel like she was falling apart. Her shaking slowed, her breathing becoming more regular by the moment.

_Calm,_ Angela thought, holding the rocketeer tight, petting her. _Calm, calm, calm..._

"Yes. And I am sorry. We have - Angela has - fixed it. It has been categorised as an errant filing, and completely undone. It effectively never happened."

Fareeha shuddered, but it was different, it was a release, not a winding up, her relief palpable. _Yes,_ she thought, desperate. _Yes._ "So..." She took Moira's hand into her own. It felt... familiar, almost, although she'd never held it before. Comfortable. Like Angela's, different, but not so much. _Surgeon's hands_ , she thought. _Strong, and careful..._ She nuzzled against it, a little, cool and pleasant on her face. "...so... we just had... a fight. And..."

"And we took a break from it, and ... that's right, it wasn't supposed to be from each other completely, it was just from the fight, wasn't it?" Angela asked, not so certain herself, memories resorting, falling together in new ways.

"Ah!" Fareeha leapt upon the suggestion, suddenly quick, suddenly sure in her movements. "Yes! That. That makes sense. It makes sense. We, we, we put it aside until after, after everything was over, and, and..."

"And then everything happened, with Dr. Ngcobo and I trying to hard to figure out what had gone on with poor Tracer, so sad, and I neglected you..."

"I was too busy, we were working possible outcome permutations constantly..."

"And meanwhile," Moira said, her own mind racing, "I was working to insure that Reyes and Ogundimu wouldn't figure out what was happening within Talon, and trying to help Lena from my side of the operation..." She shook her head a little, surprised, thinking, _that's... actually correct, isn't it? Yes. Of course. Why is that surprising? Of course it is..._

"And then London, and Reyes, and Winston, and we were hit, and fell, together..."

"And I was too far away to help, and didn't even know what was going on," Moira said, knowing it was true, but thinking, it was shaded, but not sure how...

"And I," Fareeha said, "I ... thought it was your _fault_..."

"It was, I should've been there."

"No, wife, it wasn't. It was Reyes's fault, _he_ should not have been there...."

"And Lena was so traumatised, paralysed with guilt, she had to come back with me, so I could undo the damage to her psyche, fix her..."

"And I came back with you, but to my labratories, to... go through everything again. Why? I must've thought I had something in my examination records. Does that make sense?"

Fareeha nodded. "I... yes. I think so. You were her doctor at Overwatch, you had examined her often, and... I went back to Helix, and you, you..."

"And you collapsed, from, exhaustion?" Moira suggested, "after we met that day, and I brought you back here, to recover, and upgrade you, as we'd planned...."

"And Overwatch thought, and I thought, that... but it was planned...?"

"Yes, of course, after London, we had to, it was necessary..."

"And I made the very bad decision for which I am sorry, and have apologised, and have apologised again, and..."

"And now we're... where are we? _Oh!_ " Fareeha shuddered again, screwing her eyes closed, tightly, hands clenched tightly around Moira's and Angela's both, as dozens of contradictory memories merged, blended, and resolved themselves into a single, coherent - _emotionally_ coherent - story. "Oh!" she gasped again, and leaned back against the stack of pillows behind her, collapsed against them, eyes half-closed, and, softly, she began to laugh with relief.

"Where have I... oh! Hello, Moira," she said, sitting back up, with a bit of a smile. "Angela! Oh, oh, you're here. You're... of course you're here. You've been here, the whole time. You both have." She snorted, and shook her head. "I'm the one who's been gone, apparently."

"How do you feel, Fareeha?" her wife's wife asked, cupping Fareeha's face in her hand, gaze tender.

"I feel as though I've been... away. As though I am fully awake, for the first time in days."

_**There** we are_ , Moira thought, relieved, more deeply than she'd expected. _Finally._ "I need to give you a small pressure injection, against your neck. Is that all right?"

"Of course," Fareeha said, and the injector hissed against her artery painlessly.

She looked around, as the doctors gave themselves their own doses, in turn. "I thought Lena was here."

"She has been, much of the time. She's been worried about you - we've all been. You had a concussion, do you remember? You went back to Helix, still traumatised and confused, and we had to go in and get you, and it was a fight. We've been treating you ever since. Do you feel better, now?"

"Yes, I remember now. Thank you, Doct... Moira." She shook her hands out, briskly. "The last few weeks, I have not been entirely myself, have I?"

Angela beamed, and embraced her bird wife tightly. "You have been. You _have_ been, my love, but - now you actually know." She leaned against her consort, and kissed her, fiercely. "I'm so happy you're back at last. I've missed you." She tilted her head. "Your new eyes are so beautiful. I can appreciate them, now that you're really awake."

"Are they?" she asked. _New eyes. That's right, they were upgraded. Like hers, but different._

"Don't you remember?" Angela said, nervous again.

"No, I do. I've just been..."

"Do I have a... oh, yes, I do." She handed Fareeha a mirror. "I could look into them forever."

Fareeha glanced at them, smiled briefly, and handed the mirror back. "I'd rather look into yours."

Two hours - and a full workup on Fareeha - later, Dr. O'Deorain stood at her desk in her laboratory office, deep in thought, as, down the hall, her Weapons welcomed their Huntress fully to the corps, with cake, and laughter, and hugs.

_I thought, I thought I'd..._

She pulled up her notes, on her most private system, the one on which she kept those pieces of data most important no one know, and read on the changes she'd made, those months ago, to Angela, to her memories - or, at least, how she'd noted down her intent, how they'd been planned - and frowned.

_This can't be right_ , she thought, knowing it was, even as she thought it, but thinking it nonetheless. _It's far too crude. I had to have changed my mind. What we have... what I actually must've done..._ she searched for the correct words, _what I actually did... is so much better._

She shook her head, and updated the record, throwing the original into archive, marking it as errant, as out of date, and, after a moment of hesitation she didn't entirely understand, purged it completely.

_There_ , she thought, satisfied. _Much better._

_It's always important that records reflect the true reality._

**Author's Note:**

> To follow this story, [subscribe to the series via this link](https://archiveofourown.org/series/972024), rather than to the individual eddas or sagas.


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